


crossroads

by ponyponynay



Series: Visions [2]
Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 16:45:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponyponynay/pseuds/ponyponynay
Summary: If Liz tames, Timmy… he provokes. He nudges at the sleeping beast, teasing, daring. And it’s more effective than Armie likes to admit.





	crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> please take note of the time stamps in the story. warning for depictions of slight emotional violence. and pls excuse the change in tenses.

 

 

**Tuesday 7:55 a.m.**

 

Recklessness is engraved in Armie’s DNA. 

His wife likes to boast that she has tamed the beast -- its beaten down shell, her most prized trophy. Armie knows, she’s right in a way, wrong in another. It’s a mixed bag. Procreating does tend to draw out the responsibility in people to a certain degree, Armie admits. And now that’s he’s projecting a sense of responsibility, he’s half the angry, reckless and impulsive beast he used to be. 

But instinct is instinct. It can’t be killed. 

That instinct is why he was up at 4 a.m. impulsively, and recklessly, booking a ticket to the place he’d just left less than a week ago. It’s why he’s sitting crammed in an economy class seat he had barely managed to get waiting on standby. 

His legs were folded in the most uncomfortable way. Within minutes of boarding the plane, he’d already signed at least 50 napkins for passengers who couldn’t help but ask. 

He understands, but sometimes, he just isn’t in the mood. Right now, Armie was one little encounter away from screaming and breaking things. He was feeling on edge. 

Though these days, Armie felt like he was always on edge. That all probably had to do with a certain 22-year-old. 

If Liz tames, Timmy… he provokes. He nudges at the sleeping beast, teasing, daring. And it’s more effective than Armie likes to admit.

Armie feels fire when he’s with Timmy. That’s why it’s so addictive. Armie was hooked from day one, and the more he was addicted, the harder it was to stay away. 

But he’s not naive enough to ignore the massive fear that coexists with his feeling of addiction. And it turns out, recklessness and fear are bad influences on each other. They serve to exacerbate each other, and the outcome is one that escapes all responsibility. 

 

 

**Last Thursday, 5:12 p.m.**

 

“I’m leaving. You really not gonna come say goodbye?” 

Armie stood by the door, his bags rested next to his feet. He looks back at the bedroom door, half shut. He can see Timmy’s head wiggle from inside the blankets. But he does not move beyond the few inches required to readjust himself. 

The night before was emotionally charged, to say the least.

Armie knows he can’t escape blame, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t shocked by what Timmy had to say. Timmy was dissatisfied, jealous, angry. Armie would also be lying if he said he hadn’t seen it coming at all. 

But what was he to do. 

Because he was clueless, Armie tried to glide over it. And thought he had succeeded. For a blissful few hours, he’d fallen asleep thinking the make up sex had served its purpose. But he’d found Timmy the next morning sitting by the window with bloodshot eyes, unwilling to accept a good morning kiss.  
And here Armie was now, at the door, ready to leave. 

Perhaps this was the problem. That Armie had to leave. All the fucking time. Armie knew this, but he chose to ignore. 

He grabbed his duffle bag and piled it on top of his rolling suitcase. He looked back once more, to see a dormant Timmy, still curled up in the white comforter.

Armie can only do one thing in this moment, and that is hoping that Timmy’s bad mood will work itself out sooner rather than later. 

 

 

 

 **Following Sunday**

 

It was becoming evident that Timmy had crossed some sort of point of no return with his deteriorating mood.

Timmy was slow to respond to Armie’s texts, He didn’t answer Armie’s call on the first two tries. And the times he did, he wasn’t his usual enthusiastic self, eager to spell out his day’s endeavors. Rather, Timmy was eager to do something else -- hang up. 

It was no different time time.

[ I’m really busy, so….]

Disinterest colored Timmy’s tone. A sick feeling kicked in in Armie’s stomach. 

That feeling had Armie tripping all over the place. Suddenly, Armie found himself reaching for whatever words he had in his bag to close the gap between him and Timmy. And an obvious solution to that, it seemed, was to suggest closing the physical distance between them.

“Why don’t you come stay with me in L.A. for a couple of days?” Armie asked, sounding hopeful.  
[ …….]  
“We’ll go to the beach or something, or just hang out and shoot the shit. Your choice,” he added.

Timmy wasn’t responding as quickly as he would like. Armie held his breath. He can hear Timmy swallow on the other end.

[ Will she be there?]

Armie’s chest sank beneath his feet at those words. 

Fuck. 

Armie found himself unable to answer. But it was obvious they both knew what the answer was. The thing is, this was her house, too, and Armie is not a great liar by any stretch of the imagination. 

His silence gave away the truth. No words needed to be said. And Timmy reacted in a way that made Armie’s chest sink further.

[ I’ll pass. ] 

It wasn’t a heated statement. In fact, it was so matter-of-factly that it sent chills down Armie’s spine. He couldn’t even get himself to ask why not, and Timmy didn’t go out of his way to spell out excuses. 

[ I’m gonna get going. So, bye. ] 

Soon, Armie’s phone screen blined, signaling the end of the call. Armie sat there, puzzled, upset. 

The tone in Timmy’s voice then had seemed disconnected from the kid who’d jumped all over him since day one, invited himself to family functions and showed up at his door unannounced. Around Armie, Timmy had always been a ball of want, rubbing himself all over Armie and stealing kisses, unaware or unconcerned with the timing or who was around, Elizabeth included. 

But this. Armie didn’t recognize who the fuck this kid was. It was like talking to a distant relative who secretly hated him. 

Perhaps, though, this was the natural consequence of just glazing over the uncomfortable conversation during his last visit to New York. 

Armie hoped he’d get some slack, though. He wasn’t prepared. It all just spilled out of Timmy so suddenly. Seriousness was not Armie’s forte after all. It all had hit Armie off guard. Hard. 

And Timmy’s cold shoulder had Armie shaking to the core. 

For a while, Armie found his own hands strapped behind his back and clueless as to how he was going to go about releasing himself. 

 

 

 

**Tuesday 7:57 a.m.**

 

“Would you like something to drink?” The flight attendant lowered her upper body, reaching into Armie’s personal bubble. He was taken aback for a second, but immediately put on a friendly smile.  
“Ah, yes, please. Something fierce,” he said.

Even during that exchange, his head is busy with thoughts about Timmy.  
Armie doesn’t know what he’s trying to do by showing up, what’s he’s going to say or what he wants from Timmy. But he’s going, and that was that. 

He had only hours to make it all work. So he’s got to make the best use of his time, because at night, he’s supposed to be catching a flight back to Los Angeles. Elizabeth is expecting him back at home. He didn’t exactly tell her the truth, and he probably also owes Nick an apology for using him as an alibi without telling him….

 

 

 

**Tuesday 6:02 p.m.**

 

When Timmy opens the door to find Armie standing there, he nearly falls over backwards.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Timmy asks, in genuine shock.  
“Wow. Thanks for the warm welcome? How about, ‘I missed you. I’m so glad you’re here’?” Armie is trying extra hard to be playful, to pretend there’s nothing wrong.  
“Armie, what the fuck. You never said anything about coming,” Timmy says. He does not budge an inch.  
“I wanted to surprise you,” Armie replies. 

Not knowing how else to react to Timmy just standing there at the door with his arms crossed, Armie does the only other thing he thinks might work. He shoves Timmy against the wall.

The back of Timmy’s head hits the wall and he squeals, but that’s muffled when Armie attacks his mouth with his own. Timmy frowns for a second and puts both his hands up in an effort to push him away, but Armie is a fucking rock. He can’t be moved that easily. 

After a few half-hearted attempts to push Armie away, Timmy gives up, gives in. Armie uses that as a signal for his tongue to find its way inside Timmy’s mouth, caressing the tip of his tongue before diving all the way in. Armie can feel Timmy’s body get less and less tense by the second, and finally, he starts to feel a bit of relief kick in. 

Minutes later, Timmy has both his legs wrapped all the way around Armie, whose long legs only need about five steps to get to their bed across the apartment. Armie call it their bed and not Timmy’s bed because he literally bought it. Timmy’s old double simply could not fit him, let alone the both of them. 

The California king-size bed does look pretty ridiculous crammed inside Timmy’s New York-size bedroom. But Armie loves it. He and Timmy can get to any type of funny business, as his mother likes to call it, they want without having to worry about falling off of the bed. 

And they’re getting to some funny business now. Tim’s managed to take his shirt off while still dangling from Armie like a koala on a tree. It’s almost acrobatic. 

“Did you really…?”  
“You really gotta learn to finish your sentences, T,” Armie says, trying to lunge his head in for another kiss, but Timmy backs up his head, intent on getting a proper answer.  
“Miss me.”  
“Of course I fucking did. I always miss you, Tim.”  
“Don’t just fucking call me Tim.”

Armie feels his own voice say ‘uh oh’ inside his head. But the fear is quickly dispelled when Timmy rubs his head against Armie’s shoulder, half giggling. 

“I like the other name better,” Timmy says, turning his head a bit, perhaps to hide his embarrassment.  
“What other name? Timmy? Timothee?”  
“No. Babe.” 

Armie could feel the sweetness returning to his T, the side of Timmy reserved exclusively for himself. And he feels an extreme sense of relief kicking in. 

He needed this. 

 

 

 

**Tuesday 9:54 p.m.**

 

Armie can’t stop looking at the clock. He waits till the very last minute, then he knows he has to go. He gets up from the couch, perhaps a little abruptly. Timmy’s eyes naturally follow his movement. 

“I gotta go,” Armie says. Timmy squints.  
“Where?”

Armie can’t answer, but Timmy hasn’t quite caught on yet. 

“You just got here! Where do you have to go? Do you have a meeting in town or something? Can I come with you?”  
“No, it’s… I have to… Go back to L.A.” 

Timmy puts down the pile of script he had in his hands. He looks up at Armie from his spot on the couch. His eyes contain a mixture of emotions, the biggest shareholder being utter disbelief. Armie can see all of that play out on Timmy’s face. Timmy’s transparent, at least when it comes to how he feels. Here, Armie knows he’s somehow done it again, fucked things up with Timmy. 

And each time, it’s only going to get harder to recover from. 

“It’s… I… Elizabeth…”  
“What did you even tell her?”

Again, Armie can’t answer. Timmy’s face turns red with anger. 

“I can’t fucking believe you. You didn’t tell her.”  
“Timmy, I…”  
“You flew all the way here from LA just for a quickie?”  
“Timmy, listen….”  
“I’m listening. Why the fuck are you really here?” 

Yet again, Armie can’t answer, at least not in a way that’s not going to make him sound desperate and stupid. 

He wonders. Perhaps he’s standing at a crossroad, and he has to make a choice. Sadly, it’s not an easy one, or one that he’s willing to make right this second. But Timmy’s eyes are piercing through his skin, and Armie feels as though he’s got to say something -- something that will buy him more time. 

“Timmy, you’ve been upset but you haven’t exactly told me why. I can’t do anything if you won’t tell me. I came here because I feel like you’re distancing yourself from me, and I can’t stand it,” Armie puts forward his best effort. 

This time, Timmy is the one who can’t find the right words to say. Armie decides he can push further, maybe work things out before he really has to dart out of here to catch the red-eye back. 

“Is this about Liz?” Armie asks. Timmy is quick to deepen his frown, as he shoots back, “Don’t fucking say her name.”  
“How can I not? She’s my fucking wife,” Armie fires. 

Timmy takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, before saying, “See, that’s the fucking problem.”

Armie stands there, baffled. He shouldn’t be baffled. Timmy had been hinting at this for a while now, but it hits him hard to hear Timmy put it so bluntly.  
So instinct kicks in, and this time, it’s one of self defense. And it’s entirely too cowardly, he realizes. 

“Since when has that been a fucking problem?”

It was a sad attempt to offset his guilt. 

“Since forever, Armie,” Timmy says, swallowing down his anger and trying to remain calm. It’s Armie who can’t keep his cool.  
“Forever? What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”  
“It means what it means.”  
“Are you playing games with me right now?”

Armie’s tone was condescending. And Timmy fucking hated it when Armie talked to him like that -- like a fucking child. 

“No, Armie,” Timmy says. I’m not playing games with you. There’s no playing with you.There just isn’t. There’s hardly any fucking playing, let alone any time for games. It takes more than one person for it to be fucking game. So no, I’m not playing any fucking games with you.” 

The words are jumbled and bits of Timmy’s anger seep through the mangled sentences. 

Armie, now on the other side of the room, brushes his hair with his fingers and grabs his aching forehead. He’s pacing, as though he’s trying to work out his anger physically. 

“What the fuck is going on? What are you hinting at?”

Again, Timmy can’t give an answer. But he’s at least honest about that. 

“I don’t know what I’m hinting at,” he says, looking Armie dead in the eye. Then he adds, “I do know that I’d like for you to leave now.”  
“How can I just fucking leave now?” Armie fires.

Then Timmy does that thing where he tries to roll his eyes so far back that they could almost come back full circle.

“Are you fucking listening to yourself?” Timmy asks, the disbelief evident.  
“What’s with the fucking attitude, Tim?” And here Armie was again with that condescending tone. 

It hits a point where their argument begins to resemble one of a father and son, rather than lovers. They both fucking hate it. Armie hates feeling old, and Timmy hates feeling like a kid. It highlighted the tilted power dynamic of their relationship and overwhelmed with Armie with a sense of guilty and Timmy, one of inadequacy. 

“You should leave,” Timmy says, sounding stern. 

Then for some reason, Armie’s anger vanishes and sadness kicks in. Here was more of Timmy’s cold shoulder, and he couldn’t fucking handle it. 

“Timmy… babe, what the fuck’s going on?”  
“Please leave. I’m asking you nicely.”

But there’s nothing nice about the way Timmy says it. 

“Timmy, this isn’t fair. To me or you.”  
“It really isn’t, and I’m done having this conversation,” Timmy says.

And Timmy knows he should have ended it there, but he can’t help it when he adds, “Goodbye, Armie. See you later, I suppose, the next time your wife gives you permission to see me.”

It was a deliberate attempt to push Armie’s buttons. 

And it was successful, as Armie charged at Timmy. Timmy braced himself as though Armie was coming at him to attack, and of course Armie wasn’t going to do that, but he had no control over himself when he found himself charging. It startled Armie himself as much as it did, Timmy. Before he ever reached Timmy, Armie stopped himself and took a step back, but his frustration still rolled off of his tongue.

“Fuck!” 

Armie is so angry he could punch the wall. But he’s holding back. There’s a tiny bit of sanity left in him that doesn’t want to scare Timmy more than he’s already done. 

Then Timmy, recovered from the initial shock, uses all of his body strength to shove Armie out the door. 

The door shuts in Armie’s face. Armie stands there puzzled. What the fuck just happened? The door has shut, but he can’t manage to leave. So instead, he stands there banging on the door and leaving multiple cracks, which Timmy will have to pay for later. All the while, Armie hasn’t stopped cussing up a storm.

Armie was losing his shit. 

“Open the fucking door!” Armie screams. 

But the other end is totally silent.


End file.
